White Angel, Red Flag
by Soalric
Summary: The Disney Princesses have enjoyed peace and serenity in their kingdoms, and all has been well. When things take a turn for the worse, however, they find that a new ideology is exerting a powerful pull on their citizens, and that they may not be so loved anymore. And once a fiery revolutionary takes up the head of the movement, it seems full-blown war is inevitable.
1. Engel Weiss

"Bring in the defendant."

The doors of the courtroom opened, and a man entered. He wore a black formal jacket with a white button-up shirt, khaki dress pants, and simple black shoes. His black hair was neatly trimmed, albeit beginning to bald a little, and he had a thin moustache over his lips. His eyes were framed with round glasses, a dull tin color in the frames.

From his up-kept appearance, he might have very well been the lawyer, if he were not handcuffed.

The man was escorted by two guards, both wielding rifles, to the defendant's stand. His sharp eyes darted around the courtroom, taking in the judge, the jury, and the large audience bearing witness to the trial. He refused to be seated, and remained standing while the judge rustled his paperwork.

"Engel Weiss?"

"That is my name," the man replied coolly, his gaze now fixed on the judge.

"Mr. Weiss, you have been charged with disturbing the peace, defacing public property, publishing libelous materials, breaking and entering, inciting public unrest, two counts of conspiracy to commit murder…" the paper turned over, "…inciting mutiny within the military, treason, and conspiracy to overthrow the crown." The judge stopped and waited for the murmuring crowd to quiet down. "How do you plead?"

Engel Weiss closed his eyes for a moment, as though piecing together a response. Then they shot open again, and he spoke:

"Your honor," the words had a biting sarcasm in them, and the judge shifted angrily, "what I have done is try to bring our country into a higher social order. The people are hungry, and I simply wish to feed them. So, I tried enlightening them," he shrugged, "but apparently that's what you call 'inciting unrest'…" he waited for any kind of response, received none, and continued: "I refuse to stand by while you, and the pompous pigs you serve, leech," he said this with a sneer, "off of the fruits of the people's labor. I have taken whatever actions I have been able to liberate the masses from the monarch's grasp. And while I have failed, I can honestly say, and pardon the cliché, that I've set the ball rolling."

"Your co-conspirators," the judge momentarily broke from his regal position, "are in prison or set to be hanged. You have set nothing in motion other than your own incarceration. Now, I ask again, how do you plead?"

Engel shook his head sadly at the judge, but his eyes clearly laughed in mockery, "I have undertaken all the actions you named. If they are crimes, then yes, I am guilty."

"Very well," the judge mumbled, and in his mind he cheered that this case would be open and shut. "Your crimes would normally carry you to the gallows, multiple times over. However, due to the special nature of your case," and he leered angrily over Weiss, "I am commuting your sentence to life in exile. You are to leave this country within twenty-four hours, and never set foot upon its soil again. Case closed." And the gavel banged loudly. "Court dismissed."

As the crowd began shuffling from the courtroom, Engel couldn't help but feel a slight disappointment; he had personally been hoping for the death penalty, to make a martyr out of himself. There was no better symbol for a revolution. A hero swinging from the rope was almost as romantic as it was grisly. A hero being shot in the woods, trying to sneak across a border, was decidedly less inspiring.

"Come on," one of the guards growled roughly, and cuffed Engel in the direction of the door. As he walked back down the aisle, though, he passed a very significant attendee: none other than Ariel, in her trademark sea-green dress, and Prince Eric by her side. They both stared at the defeated revolutionary as he passed by, Eric with contempt, Ariel with slight fear.

Seizing this fear, Engel suddenly stopped and raised his handcuffed wrists to wave at the princess. He grinned, "Don't worry, I won't be too far. Change is just around the corner," and he repeated, "The people are hungry, Ariel."

"Keep moving!" the guard barked, and Engel waved one last too-doo-loo before disappearing through the courtroom doors. Eric could see that Ariel was shaken, and he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, don't listen to him. He's just a crazy man, and he's gone."

"I know," Ariel responded quietly, "I just still can't believe the things he was saying about me, and what he tried to-"

"He's just a crazy man," Eric emphasized. He remembered that day well: Pamphlets had been going up all over town for weeks, decrying the crimes of the "bourgeoisie" and depicting Eric and Ariel as hideous beasts. Engel would speak in the town square, often competing with local preachers for an audience. That much could be tolerated; there were always dissidents. A few of the palace guards had chastised him, for being unruly, but otherwise nothing was done.

Then he began talking to the guards.

And on the particular day in Eric's mind, a few key guards had been persuaded to abandon their posts, and give Engel a free walk right into the palace with a rifle in his hand. Eric and Ariel had been on their afternoon stroll in the garden, and they only spotted Engel when he had the rifle raised, aimed right at them, ready to fire, to end their lives, to bring an end to hundreds of years of Eric's bloodline sitting on the throne.

Except his gun jammed.

Eric had wrestled him to the ground, and the rest of the palace guards came rushing in. The traitors were found and promptly punished. All of the offending posters were taken down.

And now, it seemed that this turbulent chapter was about to end.

But that didn't make the memory of Engel Weiss, standing there among the roses and petunias in his black formal jacket, his khaki pants, his round glasses, one eye aiming down the sight of a rifle barrel, any less terrifying. Not for Ariel.

"Don't worry, we won't ever have to worry about him again." Eric comforted his wife, "I promise."

And sure enough, only hours later, Engel was thrown on a train and chugged quickly over the border to a remote house hundreds of miles away.

All would be well.


	2. The Krebsdorf Valley

No place on Earth is paradise. But if there was such a place, the Krebsdorf Valley would be one of the prime candidates for the title.

The valley was bordered on the west by the vast Flado Sea, which connected to the rest of the world's oceans and carried ships to every corner of the globe. To the east was a thick forest, alive with wild creatures. The only mark of civilization among the trees were the three railroads that connected the lifeblood of the Krebsdorf Valley to the countries beyond.

To the north and south rose towering peaks, which cradled the valley between them. Their rocks ran rich with coal, iron, and copper. Here and there could also be found veins of gold, silver, and gemstones. It is only logical and correct to assume that the mining industry flourished, employing hundreds and making a few clever men incredibly wealthy.

The soil was so astoundingly fertile, and the climate so amiable, that if you so much as dropped an apple from your bag, you could return in a year to find a strong sapling growing with no effort on your part. As a result, the fields regularly flowed with golden waves of grain and lush green tides of vineyards, with every crop in between. Now, in the springtime, they smelled with the rich earthy scent of the soil being turned over and prepared for planting. Agriculture formed another backbone of the valley's economy, and farmers across the land took great pride in their work.

With all the raw materials for civilization so conveniently grouped together, it was inevitable that towns would take root. And sure enough, various kingdoms had sprung up in the Krebsdorf Valley.

The very first people to settle the valley had been the Romans, near the very peak of their might. This gem at the fringes of their empire would be the envy of the world - except the fact that the Huns had arrived at the empire's other borders scarcely a week later. Because of the valley's sheltered geography, however, the various barbarian tribes overlooked the residents within.

This blessing of luck was soon superseded by a new worry, though; if Rome was not able to exert its authority, then who would be in charge? This led to disagreements, which led to squabbles, which led to fights, which led to all-out war. And for two turbulent centuries, the peaceful valley was torn by a battle for power. Each of the competitors retreated to a strategic position and constructed a massive fortress, and his or her subjects settled into life around the protective sphere provided by the castles. Thus, the kingdoms took their shapes.

Two hundred years of non-stop warfare is, in a word, exhausting. And near the end of the conflict, the different kings and queens would see borders shift by no more than a mile or two after a month-long battle. So a ceasefire was agreed upon. In a monumental and history-making conference, all the monarchs gathered together for a final peace. After much political jockeying and debate, the decision was finally made to keep the borders where they were, with only a few minor revisions, and declare an end to the Krebsdorf Wars.

There was much rejoicing at the end of the bloodshed, and as the new era settled in, the kingdoms grew closer and closer together. Trade routes were opened, then the borders. Within one century after the end of hostilities, the monarchs came together again to create the Royal Confederacy: an alliance between the kingdoms, coupled with oaths to support each other and bring prosperity to the valley.

This pact had lasted for over a thousand years, and showed no signs of faltering.

* * *

"Mm, this tastes fantastic! As always, of course, Cindy."

"It's the one good thing my stepmother did for me: show me how to put together a decent salad."

All eight women laughed good-heartedly together. Their springtime picnics on this little grassy hill were always pleasant social events. Often times, other families would even bring their own blankets and picnic side-by-side with the princesses, and let their kids catch a glimpse of the dearest celebrities in the valley. It was always heartwarming to see the children's eyes grow wide with wonder - and more importantly to the palace aides, it was good public relations.

Today, however, was a school day, so the eight dined by themselves. Seven princesses: Snow White, Aurora, Ariel, Belle, Tiana, Rapunzel, and Anna. Anna was joined by her sister, Queen Elsa. She was the only actual reigning monarch who regularly attended. The other kings and queens did not normally take part in the gaieties. Ah well, their loss; that's what the eight friends always said among themselves.

"Oh, you will not believe what I heard the other day, girls," Tiana got their attention by waving her silver dessert fork; she was already digging into the chocolate cake. "Apparently, they're trying to lay a telephone cable across the Atlantic!"

Snow White clapped her hands in joy, "Oh, that would be delightful! Then whenever you're visiting home in New Orleans, we can still call and talk to you."

"How are they going to do that, though?" Anna's face was stuffed with food, however, and it came out "Ow ah ay owee uh ooh ah, oh?"

"I think they're still working on all those little details," Tiana continued, "but boy oh boy, it'll be quite a feat once it's done!"

"Hey, maybe we could help!" Rapunzel eagerly suggested, "If we can help build that cable, we can say we had a part in that."

"Not a bad idea," Aurora replied thoughtfully as she finished the last of her salad. "I'd be willing to put some money together."

Rapunzel again jumped inexcitedly, "Ooh, and ships! They're going to need a lot of boats to put down that cable, I bet. I'll ask my parents if we could spare some of our fleet."

"Well, that's nice for you, but we're not as lucky to have oceanside castles like you, Ariel, or Elsa and Anna."

"Oh, by the way, Elsa," Rapunzel turned to the queen, "Do you have any ice cream left?"

"Of course." Elsa moved her satchel in front of her and opened it, and a few snowflakes escaped; one advantage of having control over ice was that any box or bag you chose could be instantly converted into a refrigerator. She pulled out a container of ice cream, covered in frost.

"Mm, I'll have a double scoop, please!"

And so the conversation meandered, with news and gossip and jokes being passed around. All the while, the valley stretched out below and around the picnic hill, the definition of a idyllic and pastoral landscape, with the sun gently beaming down.

No one guessed that in two years, after more than a millenium of peace, the valley would be engulfed in war again.


	3. The Hard Times Begin

That summer, the rains didn't come.

The annual deluge, which watered to the life-giving crops of the Krebsdorf Valley, only showed up as a few drizzles.

The corn sprouted, but only reached a total height of half a meter before it crisped and browned. The wheat reached for the sky, but ultimately failed and fell against the ground, limp and lifeless. The sun scorched the earth, and the ground opened up in cracks like lips begging for water.

Cattle and sheep struggled to find so much as a clump of grass. The watering holes and wells shrank and dirtied. Squabbles began to break out over the remaining water sources.

There were food stores, of course, but the valley had been so plentiful for so long that emergency reserve upkeep had been lax, at best. It was estimated by the royal advisors that there were two months within these reserves, and then famine would strike.

"Oh, this is horrible!" Snow White put her hand over her mouth in shock, "We can't let that happen."

All seven princesses were gathered around a massive table, again joined by Queen Elsa. Instead of their usual outdoors festivities, however, they now faced a serious problem. The royal aides had concluded their presentation, and it was up to them to find a solution.

It was an unusual body they were in. They had no formal power (again, besides Elsa), but because of their prestigious positions, they held enormous influence over the kings and queens. In fact, whenever the Charming Eight, as they were called, came to a decision, it was virtually always implemented.

Cinderella raised her hand to indicate her wish to speak. "Elsa, perhaps you could cause a snowfall, which could then melt and provide water?"

"No, no I tried," Elsa shook her head sadly, "The snow is enchanted, and it doesn't melt."

There was a low "Mmmm," of disappointment from the rest of the Eight. Then silence as brainstorming continued.

"Oh, Ariel!" Rapunzel suddenly spoke up, "Could your father send some water inland?"

"No, he's the god of the sea. It'd be salt water, and leave us worse off than we are now."

"Or, or maybe," Rapunzel continued to her next idea, "Someone's fairy godmother could get some rain to fall?"

"I asked my godmother already," Cinderella responded, "She said it's too much magic for her and the others to handle."

"Oh sure," Anna replied sarcastically, "but turning a pumpkin into a carriage is perfectly within her means."

"That's not nice!" Snow White replied crossly.

"I'm stressed, okay!" Anna blurted out, "We all should be. We are running out of time before people begin to starve."

"Well, magic isn't going to work," Cinderella coolly replied, "I propose we open our treasuries and negotiate deals to import food from abroad." There was a general murmur of agreement with this idea.

Belle raised her hand to speak, "I believe the Fleurin and Lonningham nations, as our historical allies, would be the best to ask for aid. Especially Lonningham, I've heard they're predicting an extraordinarily large harvest this year."

"Very well," Elsa replied, "Let's vote. Those in favor?"

It was unanimous.

"I'll send an envoy to the two nations later today, then. On to the next order of business," Elsa motioned to the royal aide to move to the next presentation. A tall man with brown hair stepped forward and began to speak.

"There is a diplomatic crisis currently in progress," he started, "Kraljia has been accused of orchestrating the assassination of an earl in the Haffenzollen Empire, which has issued an ultimatum against Kraljia in response. Kraljia requests our pledge to back them up, if necessary, on the battlefield, and have invoked the Treaty of Braun. If they receive an affirmation from us, they will ignore the ultimatum."

The Treaty of Braun had been signed fourteen years ago, in response to aggression from the Haffenzollen Empire, also known as Ausgania. Ausgania was very clear in its goal of continental hegemony, much to the alarm of every nearby country.

Belle stood up immediately, "We cannot stand for this type of demand to be made on our ally. It's very clear that this is merely Ausgania trying to demonstrate its power."

"I say we begin preparations immediately for war," Aurora declared, "It is time we stopped the Haffenzollern Empire, before they bring war to our borders!"

The advisor cleared his throat to interrupt, "I don't like to interrupt you ladies, but may I point out that Engel Weiss was sent into exile in Ausgania?"

"Who's – oh, that guy!" Rapunzel brightened with realization, then her confusion returned, "What about him?"

Before the advisor could answer, Ariel interrupted him, "He's that guy who tried to kill me and Eric! You honestly couldn't remember him?"

"Hey!" Anna quickly intervened before Ariel and Rapunzel could begin arguing, "Maybe he's been causing trouble in Ausgania, and he might cause even more if war breaks out."

There was a sudden burst of agreement from the table. A vote was taken shortly afterwards, and it was again a unanimous decision. Kraljia would receive their backing, and the military would be raised immediately. That was the last item of business, and the Charming Eight broke the meeting and began mingling with each other, discussing new books and gossip.

The advisor kept silent however, upset. That wasn't the point he was trying to make about Weiss…

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the royal advisor was walking home on the cobblestone streets. Despite his position, which many would assume came with incredible prestige, he roomed with another family. Rising prices meant that even with his pay combined with the father's, the household just barely scraped by.

"Hey Fyodor," the grocer called as the advisor approached, "how was the meeting?"

"Tough," Fyodor shortly replied. He glanced through the stalls to see what was available. The bins of fruit were only half full, and what fruit there was only reached a fraction of its intended size. The loaves of bread were also far smaller than what Fyodor could recall from past years. And yet, prices remained where they were. It was like paying for a whole orange when you only got a quarter of one.

"Are they going to do something about the fact my inventory's going to disappear soon?" the grocer inquired.

"We're trying to get them to see the urgency of the situation, and I think a few of them have at least some idea of it. They're going to try importing food in from elsewhere." Fyodor began picking out a few of the largest apples he could find.

"Seriously?" the grocer was annoyed, "Personally, I would have taken that money and try to fund a better irrigation system! The rest of the world doesn't worry about droughts, why should we have to?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't make the decisions. I try the best I can. Hey, are these loaves fresh?"

The grocer shook his head sadly, "Frederick brought them two days ago. He hasn't been able to bake as much nowadays, you know."

"Ah well," Fyodor chose one of the miniature loaves. "Do you, perchance, have any cheese available?"

"Actually," the grocer checked the clock on the wall behind him, "that I can help you with!" his face brightened as he reached for a small icebox. "Should be just about done now – ah yes." he pulled out a ball of mozzarella, "You get the first slice, lucky you!"

"I'm just glad I caught it while it was in stock," Fyodor smiled, "I think that's about everything I need. Here," he traded a pile of coins in his hand for the cheese, "Farewell!"

After stopping by the butcher for a slab of beef, the tailor to pick up a piece of fabric, and the cobbler for a mended pair of shoes, Fyodor started for home. A group of guards marched past, wielding their ornamental pikes. Fyodor nodded to them in greeting, and the captain nodded back; the advisor was obviously familiar in the palace grounds.

Around him, Fyodor could hear the sounds of the city. Blacksmiths hammering on the anvils in their shops, a housewife sweeping the dust away from their home's front door, a vendor and potential buyer haggling over the price of a freshly slaughtered chicken.

Children darted past, rolling tin hoops with sticks and chasing each other around. They ran around and around Fyodor, who chuckled warm-heartedly. "Aye, watch it!"

"Tag! You're it, Mr. Fyodor!"

"How am I supposed to tag you back? My hands are full, that's not fair!"

"Haha, you can't tag us back!" and the children ran off laughing at their victory.

"Oh, I'll get you tomorrow!" Fyodor laughed to himself. If there was anyone who wasn't concerned about the possibility of food running out, or war coming on the horizon, or economic crises, or anything of that nature, it was the children.

And he wished they never had to learn about it.


	4. The Crown's Troubles

PROTECT OUR VALLEY FROM THE BARBARIANS

Below this mandate was a caricature of an Ausganian soldier, leering and inhuman, who grinned evilly. He held a bloody knife in one hand, a severed head in the other, and was surrounded by carnage. Below that was one final order: ENLIST!

The posters had been doubled, and now hung everywhere, two or even three on a single telephone pole. Upon their introduction they had been shocking, emotional, and therefore effective; now they seemed a passive item that no one glanced at anymore.

Aurora blankly stared out the window of her carriage, and the posters rolled past. Half lulled to sleep by the clacking of the wheels on the cobblestone road, she only paid minimal attention to everything outside. Inside her cozy gilded cab, sight was all she had. She couldn't feel the sting of autumn freezing into winter, or hear the silent shuffling of people going about day-to-day activities. Although, passing by the newly built factory, she could smell the acrid smoke of industry churning its gears and spitting out tools of war.

The carriage lurched, finally rousing her. An attendant opened her door and helped her down.

"Thank you," Aurora smiled, and she stepped onto the palace grounds. The gates were already shutting behind her.

Her pleasantness masked annoyance; she had been sharing teacakes with Tiana when her father had sent a wire ordering her immediate counsel. This had better be important, Aurora thought grumblingly to herself. She found her way to her father's throne room and entered, only to find he wasn't there. There was only a small grubby-faced boy polishing the throne.

"Excuse me," Aurora called to the child, "where is my father?"

"He's meeting with the generals!" the boy called back, and he immediately went back to work.

The Monarchial Army room, Aurora thought. She turned to hurry on her way. Oh man, I hope he's not going to ask me anything about the war, I'm sick of the whole thing.

Sure enough, she opened the door to find her father deep in conversation with his generals: five men in ceremonial uniform, each complete with sash, saber, golden epaulattes, and lavish medals. They broke off their talking when the princess entered the room.

"Aurora, finally!" King Stefan went to his daughter and led her into the middle of the dialogue, "We need your help with an extremely crucial operation."

"Yes?"

"We're mounting an offensive-"

"Oh, not another one!" Aurora pulled away, "You know what happened the last time." That dreadful Junge Offensive had cast a shadow over the whole war.

Before that battle, enlistments had been through the roof; thousands of young men wanted to taste the glory of war. They had boarded the trains to the east, waving a temporary goodbye to their lovers and families.

The first major battle occurred near the small Ausganian town of Junge. It was judged to be a relatively easy operation; over the course of a week, the army would take the hamlet and route the Ausganian forces. What they did not account for were the seamless defenses of the Haffenzollen Empire, equipped with the latest in wartime technology and anchored in trenches.

A week dragged into four months.

Six hundred thousand, more than half a million men were lost.

The village ended up razed to the ground.

And to show for their efforts, the Royal Confederacy had gained half a mile of territory.

This blow had been a slap in the face for all of the monarchs, but they could not feel the crushing tragedy of mothers trading their sons, young girls trading their lovers, children trading their fathers for a casket.

A new offensive had not been taken since then, and the Royal Army had dug itself in where it stood. Now the opposing sides did little more than stare at each other and lob artillery shells across the trenches.

"Don't worry Aurora," her father said, "I have a plan that will set this war in motion again!" He directed her to a map on a table. "Now, here's the enemy's line," and he motioned to a red line that meandered north to south across the map, "and here is us," he pointed to a blue line that ran parallel to the red line, just a bit to the east. Square blocks of different colors hid behind the blue line.

"These, specifically, are our troops," he pointed to a cluster of orange blocks, "the rest are from different kingdoms in the valley. As you can see, we're closest to the front line, and the best placed to mount a new attack."

"Father, I don't think it's a-"

"Shh shh, let me finish!" he said exasperatedly, yet he still smiled, "Blindly running at the enemy's trenches would be suicide, we discovered that, I know. But," he chuckled lightly, "we can _dig_ our way to their lines!"

"Your Majesty," one of the generals interrupted irritably, "I told you that such a maneuver is highly impractical. Lonningham and Fleurin are attacking Ausgania from the west, and Kraljia from the southeast. We may not be able to advance, but neither can the Haffenzollen Empire. We have more resources, we can wait it out until they collapse from the ins-"

"There is no glory in out-waiting the enemy!" the king laughed, "We need to prove our ingenuity and might!"

"This is the twentieth century," Aurora could tell the general was trying to keep calm, "You don't prove ingenuity and might by leading your troops on horseback against the horde. You do it by understanding the principles of modern warfare and applying them. I will not order an advance until I deem it plausible."

"No, you will order an advance when _I _deem it _necessary_!" Stefan suddenly lost his jovial edge, "And I don't appreciate being lectured by my underlings. I am the king, I make the decisions!"

All of the generals took offense to this, and the one who was speaking angrily adjusted his uniform, "I refuse to be responsible for a meaningless operation. I will not order it," he repeated.

"Then I will!" the king seemed to have momentarily forgotten his daughter, "As of now you all have advisory positions. I will take personal command of the army."

"Sire!" all generals expressed their shock at this spontaneous action, "You cannot!"

"I can and I have," he suddenly wheeled around to Aurora, "I wanted you here because I need you to get your friends to convince their fathers, or mothers or sisters or whatever they have, to join me in this offensive. We need to cooperate on this."

"But Father," she stared wide-eyed at these sudden developments, "this is absurd! You can't lead all those men!"

"Of course I can!" he scoffed, "My mind is made up. Tomorrow, I leave for the front lines! You and Philip will rule in my place."

"No!" Aurora, for the first time, felt the very real panic of possibly losing a loved one.

"Aurora, please, don't make a scene," Stefan hissed, "This is what I need to do. Now go, we need aid!"

* * *

Fyodor walked through the doors of the steel foundry, and was immediately surrounded by an angry mob of employees. Chants floated, mixed, grappled with each other in the air.

"We're worth more than this!"

"No steel without a meal!"

"People before profits!"

The slogans blared from picket signs which danced above the sea of angry faces. Fyodor carefully picked his way through to the manager's office. The door was locked, and the blinds pulled closed over the windows.

"Let me in!" he yelled to be heard over the racket, and he knocked his knuckles against the glass, "Royal arbitrator! Royal arbitrator!"

Two fingers pushed open a space in the blinds, and a pair of eyes peeped out. Fyodor hurriedly flashed his badge. The eyes disappeared, and after a few seconds the door cracked open. Fyodor found himself yanked into the office in a whirl of cacophony and color, and now he watched the manager trying to shut the door again.

"Back out! Get back out, now!" he snarled at the strikers trying barge their way in. Finally he wrestled the door closed and re-locked it. He panted and sank to the ground.

"Mr. Renham?" the manager nodded tiredly at his name, "Where's the strike leader?" Fyodor inquired as he helped the man back up.

"Sitting right in front of you," came an annoyed voice from behind. Sure enough, a man was sitting in front of the desk, turned around in the chair to face Fyodor. In the mess of trying to enter the room, the royal advisor-turned-labor dispute arbitrator had not noticed him.

"Right, sorry. Nice to meet you," Fyodor shook the man's hand. "Mr. Renham, go ahead and sit down. I'm sorry, Mr...?"

"Brosele," the strike leader answered.

"Brosele, we'll start with your side of the story," Fyodor pulled up a chair to the side of the desk and sat down, and glanced from face to face. "What is the issue?"

"The issue is simple. At least, to me it is," casting a glare at Renham, "Current wages are not enough to live on. The way it is now, a man working full-time can barely afford to feed, clothe, and house himself. And most of the men here have families to support, children to send through school. Prices keep soaring, and it gets harder and harder. If we cannot make a living by working here," he leaned closer, "we refuse to continue working here."

Fyodor stopped to consider this point; an excellent one, in his opinion. He turned now to Renham, "What is your view on this issue?"

"I can do nothing!" he gestured frantically, "The crown has set a price ceiling on me for my steel, I can't sell any higher! But iron and coal, they get more and more expensive, I can do nothing except try to produce more steel. And now I will be ruined!"

"I know about the price ceiling," Fyodor muttered sadly, "This is a key wartime industry, that's why we need cheap steel."

But instead of a bloody price ceiling, Fyodor ranted angrily in his head, perhaps it would be better to invest the crown's treasury into better mining equipment, or at least do anything to actually help instead of just saying "no"!

He continued, letting his irritation at the monarchs subside, "Here's what I propose: Mr. Brosele, please tell the men to go back to work. I'll go see if I can get the ceiling raised, so Mr. Renham can charge a bit more. If I can do so, then Renham," he nodded in the man's direction, "please split the profits among your employees. Will that please everyone?"

It wasn't everything Brosele or Renham wanted, and negotiations either way dragged on for three hours - but in the end they supposed it was the best option they had.

After a contract was drawn up, notarized, and signed, Fyodor hit the road again, and behind him smoke began spewing from the foundry's funnels again. Rather than being satisfied, however, he simply sighed exhaustedly.

He had two other strikes to deal with.


	5. Blood Runs Red

King Stefan stared at the Ausganian trenches through his binoculars. He sniffed with contempt, "They think they're so smart, hiding like that?" He yelled, "Cowards! That's what you are, COWARDLY!"

"Sire, get down!" a soldier grabbed the king and pulled him behind cover. "It's dangerous to be up like that!"

"Don't tell me what's safe and what's not, Lambbottom." Stefan snarled, "I know what I'm doing!"

"It's _Ramscotton_, sir, Private First Class Ramscotton."

"Fine," a mortar landed fifteen yards away, and there was a slight tremble with the blast, "How are the tunnels?"

Ramscotton held up his finger to say, 'Just one moment', and keeping his back hunched over he made his way down the trench.

"Oy! How's the tunnel?" he shouted into a dark space which faced towards the enemy lines.

"Coming along grand!" a voice echoed, and the sounds of scrambling footsteps grew closer until a grubby face peeked out at the light. "We hit a patch of softer ground, easier to dig through, yet still firm enough to support the tunnel."

"Great! His Majesty will be pleased," Ramscotton grinned and clapped the soldier on the shoulder. "Keep going."

After repeating this checkup on five more tunnels, the private first class reported back to Stefan, "Progress is good, sire. Tunnels Two, Three, and Five are ready to break through, and the rest should be ready to go by tomorrow."

"Excellent," the king was again watching the enemy trenches through his binoculars, this time though leaning against the wall of the trench to keep cover, "Have Two, Three, and Five begin their attack then."

Ramscotton thought he misheard, "Sorry, your Majesty, my ears are a bit shot from the shelling. Could you please say that one more time?"

"I said," the king drew closer to repeat, but another stray mortar landed twenty yards away and interrupted with its blast, "I said, have Tunnels Two, Three, and Five," he indicated the numbers by holding up his fingers, "attack!"

"But what about the other three?" Ramscotton was confused, "And shouldn't we wait for word from the other kings, so that we all attack together? That was your plan!"

"I changed my mind. And I know what I'm doing!" Stefan snapped at the soldier's concerned expression, "I would not have been born as king if I wasn't fit for the post. Now go, that's an order!"

Ten minutes later, troops flooded the three tunnels, ready for the assault. Ramscotton was staying behind as a reserve, and he wished each man well as they funneled into the underground.

"All men at the ready!" the king's command barreled through the air. The soldiers clutched their rifles with tight, almost white-knuckled grips. Some stayed stony, others let a few tears go down their faces. Some prayed fervently, their hands filled with the body of a gun.

"...shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and-"

"Break through! Now!"

There was a furious digging at the far end of the tunnel, and the sound of earth giving away. A yell of excitement came over the men as they all pushed forward into the void, and the sounds of gunfire could be heard.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Ramscotton cheered on the troops with a smile. This was going to be remembered as a proud day, a victory for the Royal Confederacy of Krebsdorf, and people would cheer and recall the bravery of those men, who fell backwards, yelling in shock and mortal terror-

"They were waiting for us!"

Ecstasy quickly melted into dismay, then alarm. Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the ground, and Ramscotton was on the floor of the trench. His ears were ringing. He heard no voices except a far away blur. What he could hear was a symphony of blasts from the no man's land.

"Heavy artillery!" he didn't hear himself yell, but his vocal cords still vibrated desperately. "Everyone out!"

He watched with horror as men desperately scrambled from the tunnels, dirt clods raining on them, now hailing down, now obscuring everything. The dirt danced beneath their feet and above their heads. Dozens of young men, already dead in their graves, and for vain.

Ramscotton watched the whole scene unfold silently.

* * *

The Charming Eight were gathered again, each accompanied by their staff. Outside, protesters chanted, their angry words worming their way through the exquisite walls of the palace.

Aurora was a visible wreck. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes never left the tabletop. Her father's assault had horribly failed, but he had not died; worse, he returned home to the scorn and anger of thousands. Really, everyone had. All of the kings had left their thrones to participate in the slipshod operation, and now all became synonymous with the futility of the damned war. But since her father had come up with the idea in the first place, most of the blame was passed along to him.

Despite the setback, however, he refused to relinquish control of the military to the generals again. King Stefan insisted that the next time he led a charge, it would work. They just hadn't tried hard enough the first time, he insisted.

That had gone over spectacularly with the soldiers.

"Now what do we do?" Snow White asked innocently. Her advisers were eager to give their word, but they knew the rules: no talking unless spoken to.

Fyodor was reaching his breaking point, however. He stood by Elsa and Anna in full dress uniform at attention, but inside he was picturing himself telling them off. Not a good thing for a royal adviser to be fantasizing, but he didn't care right now. It didn't help that the shouting from outside kept working at him, eroding his mood.

"Well, morale is certainly at an all time low," Ariel gestured out the windows, "I don't suppose we could do something to get people's minds off the war?"

There was a moment of awkward silence, filled only by the protesters' voices. Tiana's eyes grew wide with speculation, and she rose out of her seat.

"Hey...that's a fantastic idea! Naveen and I, why, we could help put on a simply astounding festival. I can make up some of my world-famous gumbo."

"And Eugene and I," Rapunzel did not want to be left out of the festivities, "we could get everyone in our kingdom to bring lanterns, and the sky will be filled with lights, and it'll be so pretty!" She clasped her hands together and held them by her cheek, smiling dreamily at the vision.

"I can bring some dancers..."

"...some books on poetry, have some readings..."

"...all over the place. An ice sculpture in the front, nice and grand, and..."

The air filled with a flurry of party planning, and Fyodor stood still, his breathing getting heavier. Protests still floated into the room, and the angry shouts, being ignored...

"Excuse me, Captain," Belle pulled aside the captain of the guard, "can you please get them to be quiet outside? We have to focus, so just have them leave so we can make this up for them."

As the captain nodded and turned to leave the room, and he shut the door behind him, Fyodor watched with outrage.

That was it.

The camel's back was broken, or however Fyodor supposed that saying went.

"_ENOUGH!_"

All of the princesses stopped mid-sentence and whipped their heads around in shock. The other advisers were also flabbergasted. A few even recoiled at the word.

"You have no idea what is going on, do you?!" he demanded angrily, and he slammed his hands on the table. "You do not know what is going on out there!"

"Fyodor," Elsa came up to him gently, but firmly "what's gotten into you?"

"Shut up!" Fyodor realized when the words came out of his mouth it would probably be jail time. He didn't care, he would prefer the stone cell. "YOU listen to ME!" He turned on all the princesses again. "Lanterns? Poetry? _Gumbo? _You think that's what the people want?"

Nobody dared to answer him. The people outside continued to holler demands.

"You sit here, in your halls of marble, thinking you know what's going on?" he shook his head, his breath coming in furious pants, "You don't know. You don't even look out the windows of your carriages when you ride down the street. The closest you get to your own people is when you sit on silk blankets on that stupid grassy hill, sharing petite sandwiches." He glared at everyone, challenging them to respond.

"I know what's going on. I live it every day. We, the advisers, see it. Yet you don't ask us. You only ask us about wars," he spat the word out like poison, "and glory, the world market. You never ask us what the people want. Well, I'm going to tell you what they want." Fyodor paused, "They want what they have in every other major country: a voice."

"What do you mean?" Anna braved a probing question.

"What do you think I mean?!" Fyodor scolded her like an ignorant student, "Democracy! They want to _choose _their leader. I'm sorry, and I mean no offense to your families, but bloodlines," he shook his head with resolution, "they're not enough. We're barely starting to build factories, and across the ocean, they're building _flying machines _that can cross a continent! You know what they have? _Democracy_! They have a public school system; anyone can be educated if they wish. Here, it is only the wealthy who can afford it." He was running out of steam, and he hoped desperately that his point was being made.

"I'm not saying to get rid of you, I have a fondness for all of you. But please, do something to give the people a voice. If you do that, we may even win the war, give them something to fight for. Write a constitution, create a parliament. Please," Fyodor begged, "do something."

Everyone remained frozen, to ensure he was done. Fyodor began to feel a burning shame, and he dreaded having to turn around and face Elsa. He stared at his shoes instead. The voices of protesters outside were sure to be the last thing he heard as a free man.

"Fyodor, please look at me."

The softness in her voice gave him hope, and Fyodor looked up. Elsa didn't seem angry; she only appeared a little disappointed.

"I know that things are bad right now, but you have to keep faith." She pulled close to him and gave a reassuring hug, "We can get through this."

Fyodor pushed away in frustration. "Dammit, you don't understand! Magical pixie dust," he motioned with his hands, "is not going to save us! We need to do something now!"

Rapunzel came up to the man, and took his hands gently, "She's right, you know." She beamed happily, "All we have to do is believe in each other, and the power we hold in each of us."

At that moment, rifle shots erupted outside, and the chants gave way to screams. Everyone turned to the windows. Through the rippled glass, there were the guards with their guns, and people running, and smoke, and red puddles...

"Oh my God..." Rapunzel backed away shuddering, then her face turned pale, "Oh my God!" She ran from the room into the hallway.

The shots kept firing.

"Stop! Stop!" she ran up behind the line of guards, still shooting at the crowd. Peering past them, Rapunzel saw that none of the protesters were armed. No one had been posing a threat. Her guards had just...

"Stop!" she screamed again, and tried to pull the captain away by the shoulder. She promptly received an elbow in the face, and looked up to see a gun barrel pointed at her. Rapunzel yelped.

"Your Majesty? Oh, I'm so sorry," the captain helped her back to her feet, "Just getting rid of these peasants for you," and he turned to aim again, this time at an old woman desperately trotting away.

"No! Stop! Cease! Don't!" Rapunzel screamed, and grabbed at the gun, tears in her eyes. There was a man, eyes frozen permanently. Two women, still clutching their signs. A child, who had just been running by with a ball.

And red, red everywhere.

* * *

The Arrendale Train Depot stood quietly, as no trains came at this hour. The railway station manager napped at his post, forbidden by law to actually leave. Fog obscured the yard anyways, nothing to see in the lantern light.

Except the two men who walked excitedly to the boarding platform.

Their two silhouettes blended into the fog, and their conversation was hard to make out. Clearly, though, they were expecting something. And while it was hard to see from far away, both men wore crimson bands on their arms.

"When's it going to get here?"

"It's due at six."

As the manager snored, more people began to show up, all with crimson bands on their arms, and the train steamed across Ausgania.

This train only carried one car. The Haffenzollen emperor had personally commissioned its travel, and it was given special protection as it progressed through war zones. The emperor had contrived its contents as the final crippling blow to his enemy. Every _chuff _brought the train closer, every puff of smoke turned the wheels.

Two hours later, a distant whistle finally awoke the manager. His eyes fluttered open haphazardly, and he almost toppled himself out of his chair. The manager glanced at the clock; the first line wasn't supposed to arrive for another three hours!

Growling, he stormed out of his office and onto the platform. He lit a lantern, "What the bloody hell is going on here?" he demanded. The manager squinted as he tried to see through the fog.

He heard the sound of a train approaching, slowing. The crowd of people were all at their feet, all wearing different clothing: some wore aprons, others overalls, still others vests, and even a few women in dresses. The one thing that linked them to each other was the crimson band around each of their left arms. That, and the fact they had all elected to observe this train's approach.

It was then the manager began to feel like he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to witness this. Yet curiosity kept him a prisoner; his feet did not move.

The whistle shrilled again, closer and louder. The _chuff chuff chuff _of the locomotive slowed and drew closer.

The fog was growing lighter as the sun finally came up, turning everything to a light grey. Out of the mist, the ghostly outline of a train appeared.

"There it is!" one of the women cried, and everyone began cheering. The manager stared with a dreadful expression as the mighty steel behemoth rolled in front of the platform. It stopped, steam hissed, and the whistle screamed.

There was only the plain wooden car, and it was the door to this car that the crowd surrounded.

It opened.

The manager's ears were again assaulted with the wild, almost crazed screaming cheers. There were congratulations, and welcome back's, and a few hugs, but he could not see what was making everyone so excited. He finally pushed through a break in the crowd.

"Oh my God," he whispered. His eyes grew wide and he began shuffling backwards in fear.

Greeting his followers, after months in exile, was Engel Weiss.


	6. Letting Off Steam

"The enemies of the working class say we cannot live without them."

Engel Weiss was speaking to an audience of at least two hundred people. He was dressed in his signature outfit; a black formal jacket with tan pants. His round glasses glinted with the sunlight as his eyes glinted with passion and ideology. The snows were melting at last, but the air still nipped and teethed at any exposed skin. Weiss' words were accompanied by clouds as they escaped his lips, giving them the illusion of fire. All around him were rich red flags, hanging from the podium, posted behind the stage, waving in the crowd. Every pause was greeted with a rapturous cheer.

"The queen," he yelled angrily, "she dares to place herself above us all, saying that we cannot exist without her guidance. She says, 'Without me, there would be no order. If it were not for me, everything would collapse, and all would fall to pieces'. But the workers and the peasants will not fall for this rhetoric of lies!" he paused to hear the overwhelming positive response.

"The queen, Elsa, refuses to acknowledge the ability of the people to decide their destiny. Her accomplice, Rapunzel, sent that message very clearly to us when she ordered an entire crowd slaughtered on the steps of her palace! They instead give power to, whom else? The wealthy!" As he spat this answer, a rush of booing poured out.

"The royalty, by accident of birth, are given sovereignty over us. The rich, by accident of chance, are likewise given the means to rule. An elder woman who makes her living by running a grocer stand does not receive the privilege of counsel from the crown. But the owner of a manufactory may stroll into the palace whenever he fancies!" Again, the booing; the crowds always responded enthusiastically when Weiss spoke.

"I ask you, where may the common man's voice be heard? Where may the laborer take his grievance? I answer you, nowhere! The current regime crushes the people, forcing us ever closer back to the days of serfdom and slavery. And not just here in Arrendale, but throughout the valley! Throughout the world! But what can we do?" he paused again for effect.

"First and foremost, we can stop this war!" cheering, "Every day we fight, orders go out for guns and bullets. Your dead son is remembered by the factory owner as one more coin in his pocket!" an angry roar voiced its agreement, its outrage.

"I ponder to myself, how many more of us must die, before the kings and queens are satisfied? How many more lives will be thrown away before their appetites for glory, and the capitalists' appetites for profits, are filled? A million? Two million? I say, 'None!' I say, stop the war! Now!"

Ecstasy erupted now, and refused to die down. Weiss proclaimed over the cacophony of jubilation and unswerving support, "Remember our demands, they are simple enough even for the royalty to remember: We want bread for our tables, reward for our labor, and peace for our children! And we will do whatever it takes to get there! We will not rest until we are satisfied!"

The rallies grew larger and larger every day. And the palace guards refused to stop them.

* * *

Tiana hurried down the hallway. "Come on Naveen," she called, "They'll start without us!"

"Just hold on a second!" Naveen tried skipping down the hallway on one foot as he tried to place his ceremonial dress slipper on his other foot, "You treat Maldonia like it's New Orleans, like everything is going somewhere. They're not going to start without us, we're royalty!"

"Well it's still polite to be on time." She stopped and helped him fix his shoe. "Your parents are already there, they're waiting for us!"

"They're just uptight!" Naveen joked, "Don't forget they almost cut me off."

"Yeah, I'm sure if they were debating your inheritance again, you would show up on time. By the way, what is it about?"

"Oh, probably something dull again. I wish these summits would have some jazz, it would liven things up a-"

"Shh, we're here!" Tiana shoved through the ballroom door, where yet again the Eight were assembled. This time, however, they were all accompanied by their royal families. Kings, queens, princesses and princes were all gathered here, the largest single summit of power since the Confederacy had been born. Behind each family stood a congregation of advisors, military men, royal guards, and other staff. "Sorry we're late!," Tiana apologized, as her aides came to her sides, "Had to drag Naveen from his beauty mirror. So, what's going on?"

Rather than laugh at this wisecrack, however, everyone in the room merely stared with a puzzled expression.

Stefan was the first to voice his confusion, "But, _you_ called us here…"

Now Tiana and Naveen joined the ranks of the perplexed. "No we didn't. Did we? I don't remember sending out a message…"

"If your Majesties will excuse me," it was Fyodor again, stepping forward from Elsa's side, "I can shed some light on the matter."

Every royal head in the room turned to look at him. Every non-royal head drew a deep breath, realizing they were about to witness history.

"You must forgive me, first," Fyodor spoke with a determined look, "for deceiving you. It was I, and the other advisors, who organized this meeting. We sent letters in your names," he nodded at Tiana and Naveen, and their parents, "to gather everyone here."

"Treason!" Stefan suddenly darted from his seat. "I'll have your head for this!"

"Daddy!" Aurora also rose from her seat to try and restrain her father.

"Stefan!" Elsa also advanced toward him, "He is under my employment, thank you very much." However, she turned and asked, "But why, Fyodor?"

Fyodor inhaled deeply. His palms were sweaty, he suddenly realized. Desperately, he tried to discretely wipe them dry on his uniform pants.

"It has been three months, since the massacre at Corona. On that day, I told you that we had to do something for the people. And what have you done since then?"

Snow White chirped up, "Well, we didn't try to have any more attacks. And we said sorry, and we had that bake sale…"

"Nothing." Fyodor corrected her, "You have done _nothing_. The war eats us up day by day. The economy is a mess, and food is scarce. Every action you do manage to take only worsens things." Last chance to stop... "I cannot allow this to continue."

Silence.

"What do you mean," Belle stood up cautiously, "you cannot allow this to continue?"

"The Royal Confederacy is no longer effective." It was like cutting fabric with scissors. Now that the most difficult beginning part was over, the rest was easier to continue with, "We live in a time where kings and queens are outmoded. We are the last major power to have a monarchy: a fragmented monarchy, at that."

Fyodor could feel everyone in the room turning icy. He pressed ahead.

"I began making preparations a month ago for this moment. My hand has been forced, by this man." He abruptly fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out a photograph. "I'm trying to protect you from him."

Fyodor handed it to Stefan first, who snatched it from his hand. He glared at it. "Engel Weiss?" he demanded before handing it off. Sure enough, the picture depicted Weiss standing on a large platform in the middle of an urban square. The black-and-white could not show the color of the twin flags that stood on either side of him, but they were dark. Weiss was surrounded by a crowd of people, many with fists raised in the air, and he leaned over the edge of the platform, shouting with an air of passion visible even through the rudimentary technology.

"Yes. Since he violated his exile, he has amassed a strong following. My greatest fear is that he could lead a full-scale revolt against you. I'm not excessively worried for myself," Fyodor indicated himself with his hand, "as I could easily feign allegiance and save my life. But there would be no salvation for you. I have heard him speak," he shook his head with sadness, incredulity, "and he would not rest until he has your heads."

A few of the princesses were beginning to show signs of disturbance. Snow White and Cinderella, in particular, covered their mouths with their hands. Fyodor drew himself to his full height.

"I am doing this to save your lives. The Royal Confederacy…is dissolved."

"Traitor!" Stefan leapt up, marched over to snatch the photograph from Rapunzel's hands, and returned back to Fyodor in a rage before tearing the picture in half in front of the advisor's eyes. "Scoundrel! Rebel! Anarchist!" With each accusation, he tore the picture again. Then he spat in Fyodor's face, and threw the pieces at him.

Fyodor took all of this patiently, flinching only at the spit. He had expected as much.

"Guards!" Stefan bellowed, "I want this man on the gallows at dawn!"

"They cannot follow your order," Fyodor calmly replied.

"Stefan, for the last time he's my advisor!" Elsa yelled back. She turned, and her voice was clearly annoyed, "Fyodor, go wait outside before you make things worse."

"I cannot follow that order, either." Fyodor again stated calmly.

The point of no return. Stunned silence filled the area.

"Guards," Elsa stayed composed, "Please escort Mr. Fyodor from the premises. I'll talk to him later."

They hesitated, looking at each other. Fyodor nodded to them gently, as if to say 'it's okay'.

Slowly, the guards came over by Fyodor. But they did not grab him, or motion for him to walk. Instead, they stood behind him, at attention.

The rest of Elsa and Anna's advisors slowly filed in behind him too, as well as their generals.

Now Ariel's aides and guards and generals began walking. All the crowned heads stared, mouths agape, as they joined Fyodor and Elsa's staff.

Then Tiana's.

Then Rapunzel's.

And now the kings and queens and princes and princesses of the Krebsdorf Valley found themselves with only each other. Fyodor faced them, with a mass of people behind him. It was a grand face-off: those selected by divine right to rule with majesty, and those of more common heritage who did the work of running the country.

"The Royal Confederacy is dissolved," Fyodor repeated. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket again, and unfolded it. His hands had the slightest tremble as he read, "The authority of the crowns is hereby revoked, and will be considered null and void. The royal grounds will now be considered public property, and used for the purposes of legislature. All services provided to the crown will now be answerable to the General Assembly. Until further notice, the area formerly known as the Royal Confederacy of Krebsdorf will be organized into a Transient Government, defined as a federal union of the former kingdoms."

He paused to wet his lips, dry from the tension of the moment. "Motion passed unanimously by the General Assembly…signed by Acting President Peter Fyodor. Effective immediately upon deliverance to the former monarchs."

It was over. Awkward silence filled the room, as power could be felt gushing from the one side onto the other. Even Stefan, gasping for something to retort, was at a loss for words. Finally, Anna stepped forward.

"So, I want to get this straight and simple...you're kicking us off the throne?"

"In a sense. But don't get the wrong idea, I invite you all to stay as citizens," Fyodor tried to offer, "All we ask is for you to step down peaceably. We can arrange houses for each of you, and simply part ways."

"Fyodor...why would you do this?"

"This is the best course. If we can offer reform, if we can modernize, then Weiss," Fyodor shook his head, "he will lose steam. We will democratize, and then he will have little left to fight for." He stood staring at the faces of the royalty, still shell-shocked. Some were hurt, others upset, still others confused. It was the confused faces, though, that multiplied and spread. Where would they go? What would they do now? It truly pained him inside to see them like this. But, he reminded himself, it was for the best. It was time for their country to modernize...

Fyodor concluded, "I'm sorry," he felt terribly awkward having to say this, "but the assembly actually has urgent business to discuss: the details of…well, building a government. We need all non-members to leave, please."

The until-recently-royal persons only realized after a few seconds they were being asked to leave. But, bit by bit, even Stefan left the hall. All departed without uttering another word.

A bloodless takeover, Fyodor thought to himself. Now there was one for the history books.

He just hoped it hadn't come too late.


	7. The New Republic

Humanity has spent millennia trying to perfect the institution of government. Hammurabi's Code, Plato's _The Republic,_ the Magna Carta, the Declaration of Independence, the Napoleonic Code: all documents which have shaped the political world. Aside from these mammoth turning points, of course, there are the smaller details, the court cases and laws and actions, that have come to define the political culture we know today. Ideas like equality, free markets, and democracy were not bred and born easily. They spent centuries to be sculpted.

At the moment, Peter Fyodor felt like he was trying to reinvent all of them within a week.

He had figured that completely reshaping a government was not going to be kind to his sleeping schedule, but that didn't stop him from feeling dogged by the sheer magnitude of the effort anyways. As acting president, Fyodor had chosen a small room in the Arrendale Palace – he shook his head. He had to stop calling it that; the building had been renovated into a capitol building for the new republic, a meeting place for the General Assembly. Okay – Fyodor resumed his thoughts – he had chosen a small room in the Krebsdorf Assembly Building to act as his office. It was very plain in decoration, and equally plain in its furniture. Fyodor had a large wooden desk which had a wide drawer near the top, and two others on either side of the space for the chair. These five drawers currently held all of the president's work. That is, all of the work not strewn across the desktop. Aside from the desk and his chair, Fyodor had nothing else.

At least the room is bright enough, Fyodor thought to himself. Two mounted candlesticks on either side of the space provided plenty of light to comfortably see, and to that fact Fyodor sang his gratitude. Otherwise, he would have gone blind days ago.

The Assembly had agreed with each other on one thing: action had to be taken immediately. Unfortunately, they now churned out bills by the cartful! It was now up to Fyodor to decide which ones to actually turn into law. He stepped cautiously in this delicate arena, because he realized that everything he did would set a precedent for future presidents and assemblies. So there he was, debating with himself over which ideas were good, and which ideas would get the chopping block. It was a tedious process, one prospective law after another…

"National bank charter," he read to himself as he began reviewing one particular bill for the umpteenth time. Let's see, a proposal by the representatives from Corona, a bank owned by the assembly designed to help stabilize the economy…but it could be too risky, too far of a reach of power, Fyodor countered. After fifteen minutes of back and forth with himself, he ultimately decided to veto it. One more bill down…he glanced with despair at the mountain of bills still waiting for his signature or denial. Fyodor sighed and took the next one.

Proposed by the representatives from Maldonia, a motion that would guarantee the freedoms of speech and press. Without hesitation, Fyodor signed it. There was something he would be glad to see; under the monarchs, there had been a certain chill on criticisms against the crown. Fyodor was still thankful that he had survived his own confrontation against the royalty. Of course, by the time he had started to act, everyone had already been feeling mutinous, so perhaps that had helped him…

His musings finished, Fyodor filed the new law into a second stack. He was about to take another bill when his door opened.

"Mr. President?" came an out-of-breath voice.

"Please, come in," Fyodor called to the man as he began looking over the next bill. He glanced up to identify Mr. Flades, his secretary. "Hello Mr. Flades, what business?"

The round man marched up to the desk, panting heavily, "Reports from the generals," and he laid a new packet of papers right on top of the already crowded desk. Fyodor sighed and picked them up, dropping them on top of the bill he had been studying as Flades continued, "They've been holding out, but just barely."

Fyodor skimmed through the reports. They seemed the same as they had been for the past few weeks. "Any news?"

"One of the colonels got into an argument with several soldiers, actually. Page seventeen," Flades made to move it with his hand, but Fyodor beat him to it, "Nothing major though."

Fyodor was sad to see the morale of the soldiers declining. He cursed the bitter conflict a thousand times, but he had no way to end it. Immediately after the Federal Republic of Krebsdorf was established (the working name of the country until a formal constitution could be drafted), peace overtures were made with Ausgania, and they replied favorably. An end to the war seemed at hand…until their delegation outlined the terms of peace. The surrender of all of the land to the east of the Krebsdorf valley – the country would be boxed in! Their railroads, precious lines of commerce, would be in a rival's hand! Plus, Ausgania demanded payments for war reparations, and exclusive rights over the new nation. Such a treaty would cripple the republic, Fyodor had exclaimed! Angry at the slight, Fyodor had broken off negotiations, and ordered the Ausganians to return when they had a decent deal. So now, the war continued…

"How's their strength?" Fyodor asked. His face was solemn.

"Enough to hold out," Flades nodded, still trying to catch his breath, "but not enough to mount an attack."

Fyodor continued to review the reports. "Anything else?"

"The Assembly wanted to know how your nominations for the National Court were coming along."

Fyodor groaned and tilted his head back. That's right! He had those to get done with as well. So far he had a list of sixty potential candidates, but he had to narrow it down to only five to be on the new court. Fyodor had so many factors to account for. He wanted to have a variety of political philosophies, of course, but there was so much more to try and represent. He needed a mix of genders, races, backgrounds. And if at all possible, he wanted them all from different states in the union. So much to juggle around…

"I'll get it done by this evening," Fyodor assured Flades, "It's my new priority. Oh, hey, are you going by the Assembly Building again?" Flades nodded.

"Excellent, please take these," Fyodor hefted up the large stack of signed laws into the assistant's arms, who gasped as they were dropped into his waiting hands. The sudden weight shocked him.

"Oh, and here are the vetoed ones," Fyodor turned the second stack around a different angle to be distinguishable from the signed ones, and heaved them also into the poor man's grasp. Flades' eyes seemed to bulge from the intense weight, but he was a hardy man, and managed to smile his willingness to do the task. "Thank you, Mr. Flades!" Fyodor smiled and nodded as he watched his assistant shuffle out the door.

His smile didn't last long though. More work to do…but he'd finish this one last bill before moving on to the nominations.

Proposed by the representatives from Arrendale, a war board to help coordinate production of various essential materials: a central, streamlined agency, a single entity to take care of all the necessary wartime contracts. Fyodor considered it carefully. No draconian measures would be allowed, especially none of those stupid price ceilings. It seemed solid enough, and yet light enough to not be a danger to society. Plus, it was specifically labeled to be abolished within two years, unless the assembly chose to do so earlier, or if the war lasted longer than that (God forbid, Fyodor thought).

Fair enough. He signed it, thus turning it into law. Fyodor took a moment to just briefly close his eyes. He had not slept for twenty-four hours; visions of complicated legal jargon and economic charts seemed to tango before his eyes. Oh look, the supply and demand curves were doing the foxtrot over there, how droll.

His mind randomly seemed to flit to Weiss. So far, it seemed the revolution had worked in keeping him under control. In fact, he had actually voiced mild support for it! Well, the exact words, according to what Fyodor had heard, were, "This is a chance for great change! We can only hope it does not go squandered…"

One thing that did give Fyodor comfort was that Weiss had decided to take part in the democratic game: he had organized his own political party, which hopefully meant that he had given up the idea of armed revolt. He finally had a place to vent, and had even had some members of his party elected into the Assembly.

Yes, eleven Communists within the sixty-four man assembly.

They were strange though. Fyodor had visited the General Assembly personally a few times, and the eleven men didn't sit with their respective states, as the others did. The Communists all sat with each other, and seemed more withdrawn. They would propose a bill every now and then, and cast their votes, but they never seemed to actually debate on the floor. The closest they got to it was some inaudible muttering among each other. Very curious…

No matter, at least bloody civil war had been averted, Fyodor thought to himself. Now his thoughts turned to two others, his previous employers.

He stared at the wall beside him, and took a few seconds to wonder, how were Elsa and Anna doing?

* * *

Anna hummed a cheery tune as she put the flowerpot in the windowsill. She looked out onto the country road which swerved by their new home.

It was a lovely little cottage, not too small at all. Then again, being born and raised in a palace had given the two sisters a distorted view on what was "normal" living space. But it was cozy, there was a fireplace and room to move around comfortably. The little house was in the countryside, away from the noise of the city. Grass surrounded the place, as well as several trees which grew close and seemed to peep in with their branches hanging low and caressing. Up the road to the right, off a distance, lived a nice young man named Geoffrey who made his living breeding horses. He would come over, say hi to the deposed monarchs, share a meal perhaps, and simply chat. The pleasant conversation was by all means preferable over their alternative.

Their second neighbor lived on the other side of the sisters' home, another distance down the road. Miss Harrol was her name, and it was easy to see why she had never been married. Her attitude was foul and bad-tempered towards anyone she had the slightest disagreement with. And apparently, she was an adamant anti-royalist, which put Elsa and Anna high on her Do-Not-Like list. Her only regret about the revolution, it seemed, was that the two had walked away unharmed.

"Blasted Fyodor!" she would spit, "Didn't have the guts to do what needed to be done! How much did you pay him to let you go, eh? Filthy traitor, that's what he is, that's what you are!" And so on.

"You mustn't let her bother you, you know," Geoffrey abruptly stopped sipping his cup of tea and tried to explain. Anna turned around from the window to hear, leaving the flower to bask in the sunlight. Elsa also looked up. Geoffrey put down his glass on the center table and continued, "Miss Harrol. She's been grouchy for as long as I've lived here. I think she's not all well, you know," he indicated his forehead.

"It's a shame," Anna mused, "I'm sure she could be very nice if we just managed to get her to like us."

Geoffrey chuckled, "You're not the first to believe that, and you won't be the first to be disappointed."

Anna fell into silence, and picked up her teacup. She didn't care what he said, she would get Harrol to like her...somehow. She began planning on how to do it. Perhaps have Kristoff come over with Sven. The duo were so amiable, surely the woman's heart would soften! As her plotting continued, an awkward silence fell over the room. It was then that Anna noticed her sister's muteness.

"Elsa, what's the matter?" the former queen was looking rather morose, "Come on, smile!"

She responded only after a pause, looking thoughtfully into her cup, "I just can't stop thinking about what happened...Fyodor didn't trust us." Elsa looked at the other two. "We were trying our best, but he didn't trust us. I just..." she struggled to make her words come out, "...it makes me feel small, that all of our efforts were not good enough for him."

Anna had already thought about this dilemma with herself, and reached her own conclusion. She decided to help her sister along the same path, and went over by her.

"Elsa, it wasn't that he didn't trust us. I've been thinking, and he may have been right. We were the last monarchy on Earth," she grinned as if she were about to say something hilarious, "You didn't really think we were going to stay that way for long?"

Elsa didn't respond. Anna continued.

"Plus, he still cares about us. We wouldn't have gotten a new home if he didn't. He's just doing what he thinks is best," she rested her hand on Elsa's shoulder, "Let's just try to move on, make a new life for ourselves. This is an era of new beginnings! Let's take a new beginning for ourselves."

Elsa still didn't respond at first. Then she slowly reached up and felt her sister's hand.

"You're right," she sighed, "There's no use wallowing in the past." She stood up, feeling a new strength in herself, "The only way to move is forward."

Geoffrey had watched the whole ordeal silently, opting to stay out of the way. Now that he felt a sense of resolution in the room, he decided to add, "For what it's worth, I never stopped believing in you." He took his tea, and raised it for a toast, "But here's a toast anyways, to new beginnings!"


	8. Red Dawn

"Mr. Fyodor?"

The president looked up again from his pile of work. Flades was in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Engel Weiss wants to speak to you."

A slight chill ran down Fyodor's back. "Send him in."

Flades departed, and after a few seconds Weiss entered the office. He seemed friendly enough, but not in a jovial way. Weiss always maintained an air of reserved calculation. To see him smile was rare; to see him laugh was never.

"Good day, Mr. President." Weiss nodded in greeting, "May I take a seat?" Fyodor motioned for him to do so.

"Weiss, I have important work to do right now. We all do. Please, try to keep this brief."

"By all means." He crossed his leg over the other, and clasped his hands on his knee, "Mr. President, I want to say I admired your action, taking control from the royals. An advance too long in coming."

"Thank you," although Fyodor was certain this meeting was not purely for the compliment.

"Yes, an excellent first step…but we're not taking more."

"What do you mean?"

"Disposing of the royals was surely only a foundation?" Weiss lowered his eyes and leered at Fyodor's, "Although, on top of all else, you did a sloppy job. They're still living in our country."

"They are out of power," Fyodor leaned forward, trying to reason, "That's all I care about. Exiling them won't do anything other than cause more drama, drama we don't need right now.

Weiss glanced away, and didn't reply. He finally spoke, "On top of that issue, there's the fact that you haven't done anything to aid the working classes."

Fyodor couldn't believe his ears, "I haven't done anything? I have provided for free speech and press, and removed any semblance of royal privilege from the system. I replaced almost the entire government with people of skill and ability, and even battled over it if I had to. Most of all, though, I provided the vote: Every member of the General Assembly was chosen by the people. So how dare you," he grew annoyed, "come into my office and say I haven't done anything?"

"Why are there still people starving?" Weiss remained unfazed, "Why do a few wealthy magnates continue to indulge themselves while the workingman is squeezed for every ounce of his labor, to receive nothing but scraps in return?"

"Last time I checked, the rich man's vote counted the same as the poor man's. We're trying to build an economy and win a war; I hate to admit it, but we have more pressing concerns at the moment."

"And speaking of the war, why don't we have peace yet? Last I checked, that seemed to be the main focal point of your presidency…"

"The current conditions of peace are too severe!" Fyodor began to grow angered at this onslaught of needling criticism, "Ausgania is beginning to grow strained; our allies are attacking from the west. If we can hold out a little longer, we can have peace without crippling ourselves. So, no, I have not signed a treaty." He stood up out of his chair, "Is there anything else I seem to be doing wrong?"

Weiss remained unfazed, merely watching Fyodor slowly get angry. "I just wanted to say I had hoped you would do more."

"Then I don't think you understand a president's role. I don't have unlimited power. I cannot just do whatever I want; I have to set limits on myself. I want to fix every problem in society too, just like you do, but I have to approach them slowly. Otherwise, more problems are created. And if that's not good enough for you, then by all means go back to Ausgania!"

Weiss had closed his eyes during this lecture. Once it ended, he opened them again, and stared up at the president. His face remained incomprehensible for a few seconds. Then he suddenly smiled curtly.

"Have a nice day, Mr. President."

And with that, he got up and left the room

* * *

In the coastal kingdom-turned-state of Maldonia, there was a certain building in the capital city. This building sat off the central road by a few blocks. It was three floors high, all used by the same owner. From the windows hung crimson banners, which fluttered lightly in the breeze.

It was the National Office of the Communist Party of Krebsdorf.

And on this particular day, it seemed to bustle with action. Men and women rushed in and out of the main doors, carrying paperwork and envelopes. If one could follow a messenger on his journey, one would end up in the mining camps. Or, how about this woman here? She's going to the party office in Corona. That gentleman, over there, he's traveling to the barracks. This didn't include the dozens of electronic telegraphs being sent through the wire.

The office resembled a beehive that day. Party members buzzed around the place, seven or eight clustered around the door at a time. They traveled to their destinations, all the while conspicuous with the red stripe on their sleeve. Completing their mission, they reported back to the hive of activity, detailing their success to the others. It was a large collective movement: everyone worked together flawlessly. Of course, if they were to be fruitful in their effort, they had no choice.

A glorious hour was at hand.

* * *

Two days after Weiss had said good-bye to Fyodor, Aurora was sitting quietly in an armchair, reading _Les Miserables. _She was waiting for her father to wake up. Her mother, Leah, was dozing on the sofa, still drowsy from a poor night's sleep. The tranquil room was comfortably furnished, and was very peaceful and bright. The sun streamed in through the wide windows, giving a warm glow to the whole house.

The door slammed.

Stefan was awake.

His mood had been foul since the revolution, and he still considered himself a king. This belief bled through into every word Stefan said and every action he took.

"I'm up!" he announced needlessly, "What's for breakfast?"

"The same thing as yesterday," Leah responded without opening her eyes or getting up, "A chunk of bread and some cheese. And, you can try those berries that you had us get a week ago, that you haven't eaten yet."

"Berries?"

Oh boy, Aurora thought, here he goes.

"Bread and cheese?! We are royalty! We should be eating crepes with the finest fruit sauce available, with an omelet and bacon and sausage links on the side!"

"Then how about you go and get a job? We could get money for crepes and omelets."

"A king," Stefan was shocked, "does not stoop down the level of the laborer! The very idea, a monarch working in a sweatshop."

"Well then, it's bread and cheese and berries for you for breakfast."

"Completely unacceptable," Stefan grumbled to himself as he sulked, getting the food out from where it was stored, "Take our crowns, make us live in squalor, nothing to eat, nowhere to live…"

Aurora actually liked the neat little house that they had been granted. At least they could see the old castle from the windowsill. In fact, the view seemed so much better from outside the castle than inside. Its grand, magnificent beauty could only be appreciated from without.

One day, as she had been enjoying the view, Aurora had been suddenly struck by her muse. She had obtained some watercolors and paper, and discovered a penchant for painting.

Proud of her work, she framed it on the wall in a trim silver frame. The castle stretched out on the paper: sitting on the grassy hill, surrounded by the white marble wall, the towers yearned for the sky, each reaching higher than the one before it. The conical tops were different colors, and from the very highest tower flew the flag of the new republic, a golden circle upon a navy blue background. Looking at the painting, Aurora swore she could see the flag waving.

As her mind traveled, she decided to see the real thing again. She put her thumb in her book to leave her place, and looked out the window. The castle stood tall and mighty…but now something was off.

"Father, Mother!" Aurora cried, and she pointed out the window, "The castle's flag!" Her two parents came up to her side.

The republic's banner was gone.

"Hmph!" Stefan snorted, "Sloppy! This wouldn't have happened under my reign!"

"It's fine Aurora," Leah comforted her, "Don't worry about it. Come, eat some breakfast, and we'll take a walk together."

Aurora heeded her mother's command, and came to the table. She ate her meal in silence, alternating between the bread, berries, and cheese to try to mix the flavors together. Her mind, though, wouldn't let go of the flag. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She was so absorbed in this thought process, she didn't notice the staccato pops that began echoing in through the open windows.

"What's that?" Leah sat up, alert, "It sounds like gunfire."

"Hunters," Stefan answered with a full mouth. For a man who didn't want bread and cheese, he was enjoying the bread and cheese, "They're shooting some quail."

The two women nodded and began eating again, albeit more slowly than before. Half of their attention was on the distant gunshots, which seemed to be growing less distant...

"Oh, stop it, you two!" Stefan barked, "It's nothing!"

Abruptly, the pops ceased.

"See?"

But now Aurora and Leah stopped eating completely, and froze to listen. Sure enough, nothing could be heard.

Nothing.

The birds has stopped singing; the squirrels had stopped chattering. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

"For the love of - here, go put on your walking shoes, and take breakfast with you." Stefan motioned with his hands, "Go see for yourself, there's nothing to be afraid of."

Oh, how cruel irony is. For just as Aurora and her mother were about to go out the door, rapid footsteps came up the walk.

"Aurora, please let them in and tell-"

The locked door shuddered with a massive blow.

"What the devil?!" Stefan demanded. He marched into the room, "Who's there?!"

"Open the door!" came an authoritative voice. Whoever was on the other side kept trying to pound the door down.

"Aurora..." her mother's voice became breathless, "...hide..."

"What are you doing?" Stefan roared. He refused to allow any more encroachments on his pride.

"Open the door!" the voice repeated. The door splintered.

"Not until you tell me what you think you're doing!"

The slamming stopped. It was quiet.

Stefan scoffed, "Heh, scared the bastard off."

Then a gun fired

"Aurora, run!"

Whoever was trying to get in had shot one of the hinges off the door. With a second bullet, the next hinge also broke.

"You son of a-"

A third gunshot, and the last hinge gave way. The door shivered a final time, then fell over, and the house was flooded by men. Each was dressed in standard day-to-day fare, except for the rifle each of them held. And for the crimson band each wore around his arm.

Aurora screamed, and tried to put her hands to defend herself. Two of the soldiers grabbed her, and a third brought up his rifle and slammed the butt of it against her face.

Then dark.

* * *

"...to us, betrayed our trust!"

Aurora heard the voice coming from far away, garbled, like she was underwater. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn't muster the effort. Two rough hands held her up.

"He promised us peace, but brought only war! Promised us well-being, and brought only poverty! And, he conspired with the royalty, and the privileged, to drag down the people again!"

A roaring boo emanated from a crowd, in front of her. She could trace the voice to a person standing to the side, closer. Aurora also became conscious of something hanging around her neck, like a rough, hairy necklace, and that her hands were bound behind her back.

"Before, we were slaves to the crowns. Now, Fyodor hopes to make us slaves to the machine! The machine of war, that does not make food or shelter or clothing, but guns and shells and bombs! Comrades, will you submit to this machine?"

A resounding "No" erupted.

"Comrades, it is time for us to take matters into our own hands! Remember our demands: bread for our tables, homes for our families, and peace for our children! The royals did not satisfy us; the Transient Government did not satisfy us. The task falls to us, now, the people of Krebsdorf, to satisfy ourselves!"

Aurora finally managed to peek out between her eyelids. She was standing on a wooden platform, in front of a massive crowd of people. Through the swimming visuals she was getting, she recognized the location: the main courtyard of the castle. Off to her right, the crowd's left, Engel Weiss was speaking, walking back and forth on the platform, whipping the people into a frenzy.

"Once we take power, then we will begin the REAL change in Krebsdorf. We will turn this nation into something never before seen in human history. Under the banner of socialism, Krebsdorf will be governed by the people! No whip will be laid upon another's back, no man shall be cast out to be homeless or to starve. No army, only a militia of civilians. Ordinary people, running their everyday business, by themselves!" a round of applause and cheering. Aurora looked on, shocked into silence, her face terrified.

"A dictatorship of the proletariat, bright and beautiful, a beacon shining for all others to follow. We will evolve into a society so flawless, the state itself shall shrivel up and be cast off! What do Fyodor and his cronies offer? Capitalism!"

There was a pause as the audience laughed, "Capitalism, with all its vices and imperfections. These frauds do not seek compromise. And so, we will not seek it with them. They have no place in the new order, and seek only its destruction. But we will destroy them first!"

And there was again the cheering, which gave way to a chant. It was hard to make out at first, but as it caught on, Aurora finally discerned the words with growing horror:

"Hang them! Hang them! Hang them!"

Aurora watched as Weiss walked over to someone on her right, and she looked.

She saw her mother, and beyond her, her father. They both had their hands bound behind their backs, and around their necks…

"Oh my God," Aurora whispered.

They were standing on a gallows.

She looked up and realized the scratchy thing around her neck was a noose as well.

"Hang them! Hang them! Hang them!"

"Here," Weiss projected his voice over the mob's, and they quieted, "is the King Stefan, who demanded your children's blood for his army, and your labor for his dinner table. And here is his family, who also feasted upon your lives. And what did they do to deserve it? Blood inheritance?!" he spat in the king's face, and the crowd erupted again. "These monsters sought nothing but exploitation and destruction-"

"No!" Aurora shouted. Weiss wheeled around to stare at her, "I didn't do anything! I tried to stop my father from doing all of those things, I knew it would end badly! Please, there's another way."

"Silence!" Weiss marched toward with his hand raised to strike. Aurora shrank away, "Your time of deceit is over. We will not fall for your lies!" He faced the crowd again, which was applauding the revolutionary's words, "These three are living examples of tyranny, examples Fyodor decided to keep alive! Now we will show him our response, and set an example for tyrants across the world!"

That was the cue.

Three platforms opened.

Three ropes tightened.

And that afternoon, a blood red flag flew over the castle.


End file.
